


The competition

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: Bullets [20]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Docking, Drinking, M/M, Talk about figurative kolbasa, Valoris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22420411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: At the beginning they’re just fooling around, because of too many glasses of vodka.In the end, it will be much more.
Relationships: Valery Legasov/Boris Shcherbina
Series: Bullets [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1372144
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	The competition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenatria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/gifts), [TheGreenMeridian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/gifts), [StellanFan (yankeetooter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yankeetooter/gifts).



> It all started with a very serious, very scientific Tumblr post where Stellan's generous endowment was analyzed.  
> That hellish blue site still has its use

At the beginning they’re just fooling around, because of too many glasses of vodka.

It can’t be said that the organizers of the conference have been stingy on alcohol and so, at the end of the evening, Boris and Valery are a bit more than tipsy, and need the bathroom with urgency, as they stumble outside the hall, supporting each other.

Valery is laughing like crazy because of something funny that Boris said (well, his drunken mind finds it hilarious).

"Stop making me laugh!" The scientist complains, jokingly slapping a hand on Boris’ chest, "I'm about to piss myself."

His language wouldn’t be so loose, if it weren’t for the booze, and even his behaviour wouldn’t be so carefree, but Valery doesn’t mind the familiarity and physicality of this moment, which sees his hand resting on Boris' wide chest, and that of Boris just above his hip.

"I didn't do anything!" Boris replies, looking at him with fake innocence, an amused glint that dances in his eyes.

"I'd have a long sph... speech about how much you are a... uh... bad liar tonight," Valery mumbles, touching the tip of Boris' nose with his index finger. He's slightly more drunk than he thought. "Maybe later!" He proclaims aloud, opening the door, only that there isn’t a tiled restroom with mirrors, stalls and urinals behind it, but a closet with a cleaning trolley and shelves cluttered with detergents and towels.

"Who moved the restroom?" He frowns, and it’s Boris' turn to burst into laughter, leaning against the wall.

That rough and powerful sound causes Valery a strange but not unpleasant shiver down the spine.

"You should see your face, it's a sight!" Boris sobs, patting him vigorously on the shoulder.

"The restroom was here and now it's gone, of course I'm confused," Valery protests, unable to stop the laughter rising from his chest, because that's probably not how things are, and he just said something ridiculous.

"Vodka killed your sense of direction," Boris continues to laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, "the restroom is at the end of the corridor. Come."

He takes Valery by the hand, dragging him, and Valery's numb mind doesn’t think about how inappropriate it may seem, seen from the outside, but only that there should be many more conferences, if the result is this.

In the restroom, Boris pulls down the zipper of his trousers with relief: he really drank a lot, he’s practically peeing vodka, but he’s still in a better shape than Valery, who at times is still giggling for no reason.

He turns to look at him with still the most innocent intentions of this world, just to check that he doesn't accidentally piss on his shoes, but what he sees leaves him speechless.

A part of his brain registers that it’s not polite, nor appropriate to ogle his best friend's cock so intensely, but he really can't help it, not when Valery is…

WELL.

"You’re big," slips out of his mouth, because when he drinks too much, his rationality goes on strike and he becomes extremely uninhibited.

Valery is equally slowed down by alcohol and doesn’t understand what Boris is referring to, but soon he will get there, Boris can feel the wheels turning in his head. It would still be time to remedy, to say that he was referring… he doesn’t know... to the urinal, to the restroom itself, but as mentioned before, his more uninhibited side took over, so he briefly lowers his eyes and repeats, "you’re big."

After all he isn’t doing anything wrong.

First of all it’s the pure and simple truth: Valery's cock is big, to the point that Boris doesn't think he could completely cover it with his hands. Not that he's thinking about it... well, maybe a little. Yes, he definitely becomes uninhibited when he drinks.

Anyway, in the locker room and in the shower of gyms it’s inevitable to see other naked men, and it happens to comment or joke about their... equipment.

Or brag about yours, if you feel confident.

Boris has done it several times and no one has ever been able to accuse him of over preening.

Showing off one's genitals is an integral part of male pride, nothing else, this is no different from the other times he did it, except for a pleasant tingling sensation that he feels in the lower abdomen while looking at Valery's cock... but surely it’s due to too much drinking.

Valery finally catches the meaning of his words, looks at his own member, looks back at Boris and raises an eyebrow, without knowing what to say. What is the etiquette when your best friend compliments you on your size?

An aura of embarrassment creeps between them, so Boris blurts out: "I’m certainly not the first one to tell you."

"Actually, yes."

"Well, they should have done it, because it’s true."

"Thank you," Valery replies politely, then it’s inevitable, truly inevitable, that his gaze runs along Boris' body, going down from his wide chest to his prominent stomach, to the cock that Boris holds in his hand, dusky, aesthetically pleasant, certainly not small and not totally flaccid right now. 

Unaware, Valery swallows.

"Yours is big too, and uh... it's longer than mine."

"But your girth is bigger."

Valery licks his lips: "Well, then I'd say we're even."

"Yes. And above all, we have nothing to envy anyone,” Boris states, clearly proud.

"You're right," Valery snickers, infecting also Boris. They look like two stupid teenagers, and it's probably just this: a moment of completely innocent stupidity. Or at least, it would be if his cock wasn't waking up under Boris' gaze.

And viceversa.

 _"A normal biological response,"_ the scientific part of him tries to suggest, after all the cock is a very sensitive organ, but for some reason, Valery isn’t entirely convinced.

In any case, it would be appropriate to get dressed: tipsy or not, the two of them in a empty restroom with their pants down is at least ambiguous.

However, Boris leans towards him and smiles, amused: "Hey, you're red down there too."

“Yes, my carpet matches the curtains. Instead, your hair is black," Valery adds, holding back the urge to touch it with a finger. There are limits, he understands it even if he’s drunk, but it’s a strange, fascinating contrast with Boris' almost white hair on his head.

"It's because it's the part of my body that's still the youngest," Boris boasts, and Valery laughs again. He’s sure that, once they are sober, they will be ashamed of this episode.

"What is it, don't you believe me?" Boris thunders, raising his chin in defiance.

"No, no, I believe you." Valery calms him by placing a hand on his arm, before the statesman does something too rash.

They’re walking on the line of decency, Boris is aware of it, but he is really reluctant to interrupt that moment of unexpected intimacy. And, on the other hand, it doesn't seem that his attentions are bothering Valery.

He looks back at Valery's cock and notices another unusual detail.

"You’ve freckles."

In many occasions Boris paused to observe Valery and the freckles that disappear under the collar of his shirt, unbeknownst to his friend, wondering how far they went.

What he has under his eyes is an interesting answer.

"You don't," Valery replies, not knowing what to say at this point.

"Hm, you’re winning."

"It’s okay, this isn’t a competition."

But Boris isn’t of the same opinion, in fact he snaps his fingers and exclaims triumphantly: "Ah, I can still ties: I have two moles on my balls!"

Valery squints to see better, but he sees only a thick bush of dark hair that hides a large sac.

"Where are they?"

"On the behind. Except..." Boris muses on the best position to show them to Valery, "yes, you should kneel, but I don't think it's a good idea to do it on this floor," he concludes, pursing his lips in a disgusted grimace.

Boris and Valery aren’t the only somewhat tipsy guests, judging by the stagnant smell of urine and the yellowish splashes on the floor from those who have failed to hit the urinal.

"Oh, you're right. It doesn't matter, I was just curious,” Valery shrugs, trying to cover up the disappointment.

"No, I want to show them to you!" Boris exclaims: it has become a matter of principle in his head, "Let's go up to my room."

The congress organizers predicted the side effects of the booze supply, and reserved some hotel rooms for the night, to prevent half of the guests killing themselves in a car crash while driving home.

"Okay, but let's zip up our pants first," Valery mumbles, fumbling with the zipper, "I don't think anyone else is interested in our genitals."

“Ah, their loss!"

Valery follows Boris meekly, because he’s not able of disobeying him when he’s sober, he certainly can’t do it when he’s drunk. The problem is that the intoxication is slowly fading, he’s recovering his lucidity, and therefore what they are doing is increasingly taking on the side of inappropriateness.

Maybe he should stop and retreat in his room with an excuse, but any words die in his throat because, once in the room, Boris doesn't waste time stripping and kneeling on all fours on the bed, ass on display, heavy balls swinging between his legs.

Valery's mouth suddenly becomes dry, and returning to his room is no longer an option.

"Come on, come and see," Boris invites him, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Valery torments the hem of his jacket: should he undress too or not?

He has nothing to show that Boris hasn’t already seen, and his friend hasn’t asked him to undress, but if he gets on the bed, he must at least take off his shoes, it’s a matter of manners, and he can take off the hateful tie, too.

However, when he reaches Boris on the bed, he is naked: keeping his clothes on, when Boris is completely naked, made him feel absurdly embarrassed.

He kneels behind Boris, and takes a moment to admire his broad, muscular back; it's hard to resist the temptation, so Valery doesn’t resist and strokes it with his hand.

Boris stiffens.

"Since we're in the mood for compliments," Valery explains, "you have a beautiful back."

Boris relaxes again: "Oh... thank you."

Valery shifts on the bed, cranes his neck and finally sees what Boris wanted to show him: two moles, small and round, on his testicles.

"They are unusual, they look like two little eyes."

"So, is it a tie?"

"Yes, I would say they match my freckles."

Boris is also a little more lucid now: not enough to be ashamed of his casual behaviour, but enough to wonder what he will do and how he will get out of that situation without arousing thorny questions, because he didn’t expect Valery's caress on his back and because of that, his cock now has in mind anything but a competition between them, and is dripping on the sheets.

When he is drunk he isn’t only uninhibited, but also horny as hell.

The situation worsens when Valery's fingertip leans on one of the moles: the realization that his best friend is touching his balls causes him an almost instant erection.

He stifles a groan between his lips, but in the silence of the room it can be heard clearly.

"Are you ticklish?" Valery asks, in a voice too innocent for what they’re doing.

"No, not really," Boris replies in a troubled voice.

Valery takes his hand away: he’s aware he has crossed a boundary, but his brain is derailed and what comes out of his mouth is not an apology, it’s a question, "How did you know you have the moles? I mean, the position is..."

“Ah yes: an ex-girlfriend of mine noticed them. It took a mirror and several maneuvers to show them to me," Boris chuckles, remembering that episode. The break-up with that girl had been nasty, but but before that they had a lot of fun in bed.

"Oh, really?" Valery's voice becomes cold, and an unexpected feeling, fierce and corrosive, scratches his ribcage: he viscerally hates the idea that someone who isn’t him has touched Boris and made him laugh in bed.

Suddenly he cares about that competition, he cares enormously about doing something nobody did to Boris.

Jealousy grows out of all proportion, quickly suffocating his rationality; he grabs Boris' thighs to spread them apart and opens his mouth.

"Valery, what...? Oh... OOOH!"

Boris didn't expect it, he didn't expect to feel Valery's wet tongue on him, and this time he can't stop himself and moans vocally.

Valery eagerly licks and sucks his balls, intoxicated by his masculine, pungent smell, and the obscene noises of his mouth mingle with Boris' shallow breathing.

It's like tasting a forbidden fruit, soft, plump, huge in his mouth.

"Tell me, has your ex-girlfriend ever done this?" Valery asks, and his hot breath is on him, making Boris shiver and moan louder.

"Valera..."

Valery tickles Boris’ scrotum with the tip of his tongue, "Tell me."

"Yes, sometimes she did."

"Hm, I see."

Valery sits on his heels, arms crossed over his chest, while Boris rolls on his back and tries to catch up what is going on. He has an impressive, almost painful erection, but now it’s the least of his thoughts.

Valery is serious and focused, as if he were facing an important scientific problem to solve, that is, how to offer Boris an unforgettable sexual experience.

While they were in the restroom, Valery has already noticed that Boris has a generous foreskin, and in an instant he knows exactly what to do.

He gently pinch the elastic skin between thumb and forefinger and pull slowly, completely covering the glans and pulling beyond. Boris exhales violently as if someone has punched him in the guts, then his eyes close and his head falls back on the pillow, as Valery continues to play with the tip of his cock, that now is leaking profusely.

"And has she ever done this?"

Boris runs a hand through his hair and barks a incredulous laugh, "Right now I'm having a bit of a hard time remembering... anything."

It’s a step forward, but Valery isn’t entirely satisfied; he grabs Boris' cock with one hand, pulls the foreskin again with the other, almost completely covering it, then pushes his tongue between the velvety skin and the glans, moving it slowly and gathering Boris’ flavor.

Boris sighs and runs a hand through Valery's hair.

"Don't stop," he whispers breathlessly.

Valery reassures him about his intentions by using his lips to pull the skin back and tickling the frenulum with the tip of his tongue.

Boris arches his back and grabs his hair harder, then growls with disappointment when Valery lets him go, but the scientist kisses his thigh, then smiles triumphantly, "There is something that no ex-girlfriend can have done to you, but I can."

Boris doesn’t ask anything, he doesn’t speak, he can’t, he’s too shocked by this hidden side of Valery, which is being revealed to him as a precious secret: he would never have imagined that the clumsy, shy scientist was so uninhibited in bed.

"Give me your hand," Valery invites him, then rests the tip of his cock against that of Boris, rubbing them together.

They both shiver because of the strange, erotic, and all too intimate sensation.

Valery makes Boris gently close his fingers around where their glans touch, and after a few moments he whispers, "Ready?"

Boris has neither the strength nor the presence of mind to ask _for what_ , he merely nods frantically, then Valery gently pulls Boris’ foreskin until the smooth skin wraps around both of their cockheads.

Boris curses aloud and closes his eyes. His mind floats in a sea of sensations he never experienced before: this goes beyond pleasure, it’s like if he’s merging with Valery.

Valery is shivering and cursing too: it's not like wearing a condom, Boris' skin is warm, soft, alive, it's...

"You're like satin," he murmurs.

This and a few strokes by Valery are enough to make Boris reach a sudden orgasm, sperm running down their erections.

"This..." Boris gasps, between one breath and the other, "nobody ever did it to me."

But Valery is only partially listening to him: seeing Boris' face deformed by ecstasy brought him to the edge of the precipice, but it’s not enough, he needs more, he needs... 

Frenzied and without any control, he masturbates on Boris' muscular thigh.

Boris knows what Valery needs: he puts a hand on his chest, where Valery's heart beats wildly, he lets it slide along his sweaty body and tightens it around his erection, and Valery comes with a long moan.

The scientist collapses on the bed, almost comatose, heedless of the mess: now he doesn’t have the strength to get up and clean up.

"So, did I win?" He asks, his face sunk on the mattress, right under Boris' armpit.

"You won," Boris reassures him, stroking his back, "and I won too," he concludes, before falling asleep.

Reality has the bad habit of crashing on on you like a concrete loaded truck, without even honking.

This happens to Valery when, perfectly sober, opens his eyes a few hours later.

He hopes it's all a colossal nightmare, but after a pinch on the forearm he has to admit that, no, it's all true: Boris, sleeping naked at his side, the itch of his skin, and the evidence of their intercourse are painfully obvious.

He slips out of bed silently so as not to wake Boris, closes himself in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, and lets the panic attack start.

What did he do? He is a monster, he molested his best friend by taking advantage of the fact that he was drunk, and no, the fact that he too was inebriated isn’t a justification. He practically raped him. Oh dear, it’s like that, right? Even if there wasn’t a penetration, not exactly... but of course it's violence, he can't hide behind pathetic excuses.

Boris will never forgive him.

He has lost his best friend.

He takes his head in his hands and groans desperately, and that's how Boris finds him when he enters the bathroom.

"Valera, are you sick? Do you have a headache?” He asks, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Damn, last night I should have insisted on getting you to drink some water, before falling asleep."

Boris is still naked, apparently calm and imperturbable as he fills a glass of water and hands it to Valery.

"Drink, you will feel better."

But Valery doesn't take the glass: he waits for Boris to address what happened between them, but his friend doesn't seem willing to do it, and he can't even look at him in the eyes.

"I can't," he mumbles, deadly ashamed of himself, "I... I can't..."

He gets up and goes back in the bedroom to collect his clothes, anxious to run away and hide. Forever, possibly.

"Ah, it’s like that, then?" Boris' voice, cold and sharp, reaches him, "you only did it because you were drunk."

"Of course," Valery tries to defend himself, "if I had been sober I would have never done it!"

Boris clenches his jaw, hurt by those words, "And I thought you liked me."

"Of course I like you!" Valery throws his arms in the air, dropping his clothes, "But that's not a justification for raping you!"

"R-rape? What the hell are you talking about?” Boris' face changes from anger to utter bewilderment.

"That's what I did: I touched you without your consent, and you should call the police and report me."

In a dramatic gesture, Valery picks up the phone and hands it to him. He would feel more relieved if Boris yelled at him: how can he be so calm?

"Valera..."

"Just do it!"

Boris massages his forehead.

"Calm down, there is a big misunderstanding here..." he tries to say, but Valery doesn’t listen, and waves the receiver in front of him, "Do it! Otherwise, I will do it myself."

Valery hears him sigh and mumble something that sounds like _"it's too early for this pointless drama,"_ then Boris walks up to him, hangs up the phone, takes Valery in his arms and kisses him, sweet but firm, his arms tight around Valery’s waist, gently inviting him to part his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Shocked, Valery flails his arms around, then the insistence of Boris' mouth calms him, and he rests his arms on Boris’ back, moaning with satisfaction. After all, he has already admitted that he likes it.

"You didn't rape me," Boris reassures him, moving his lips first on his cheek and then down his neck, "maybe I wasn't sober, but I enjoyed every single, dirty moment."

Valery blushes and tries to move away, but Boris' grasp doesn’t allow him.

"So, what happened last night is okay?" Valery asks, brushing Boris’ shoulder blades with his fingertips.

"If what you said before is true, that you like me, then it's okay."

Valery's fingers move up to caress his nape.

"I like you, and not since yesterday."

Boris resumes to kiss his neck.

"I like you too, very much," he lets him know, and reinforces his words by pressing his morning wood against Valery's soft belly.

"Oh, I feel it," the scientist chuckles.

"Do you have any more dirty surprises in store for me?" Boris asks with his lips resting on Valery’s shoulder.

"Something, yes," he lowers his head, smiling, "do you want to see?"

"Maybe later," Boris takes his hand and nods to the bathroom, "Now it's my turn to do something nobody has ever done to you."

"You look very confident."

"I have every reason to be."

Valery is under the impression that they are still in a competition, a competition about who makes the other happier, a competition where there will never be a loser or a winner.

He’s completely okay with it.

He interlaces his fingers with Boris' and follows him.


End file.
